The monorail
Only goes one way
The tracks run off into the horizon
At the end there is a bleak dark hole
The monorail laughs
Parallel
His thoughts go on past the station
Breaking the barrier, he hears a pop
He pierces through time and motion
Reality changes
Below the glass floors of the first class seating, you watch the landscapes shift
From red dirt to red clay
Dust to farberware
Tall grass, their tips dipped in wheat colored paint
Echo as they toss and turn like the fur of a cat rubbed backwards
The lands arch their shoulders and twist this way
You can hear their spines crack that way
Silver topped iron roadways lay flat on plains of rural towns
There are no in habitants
Only dust and mutated forms of the elderly
Men with sores and sagging flesh
Disease
This place exists in the exhaust of the monorail
What is red? Read?
What suggests direction?
Why should you always carry a watch when crossing the desert?
This is a simple one and the monorail smiles
He knows of blooming petals with thorny stems
He knows of a singing season
The monorail freezes in winter
But never thaws
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Submission Name: The Monorail
